


One More Tomorrow

by forsakenoathkeeper



Series: Breathe Into Me [2]
Category: Diabolik Lovers
Genre: Blood Drinking, F/M, Sex, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-22 14:54:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17061875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forsakenoathkeeper/pseuds/forsakenoathkeeper
Summary: She knew nothing beyond this ordinary, peaceful life, in a lonely cottage, with nowhere to go, but forward.Takes place after Oathkeeper.* Please be wary of adult content, including explicit sexual content, acts of violence, description of gore and blood, use of foul language, descriptions of abuse, trauma, dark romance, shaming, potential non-con, and other sensitive materials! *





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is Sora-chan from tumblr! I decided to place my fanfictions on AO3, as well, because of Tumblr's recent decision to no longer be a sex positive platform. You can also find me on twitter. Thank you for reading my erotica. Please be wary that I do write as close to the original nature of Diabolik Lovers as I possibly can. As such, these erotica pieces are often dark, obscene, and explicit. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> This story-line is the sequel to my OC's story, taking place after Oathkeeper.

When she woke that late afternoon, it was to the smell of fresh rain soaking into the old foundation: musky, earthly. It brought out the best qualities in this old cottage, and the worst. The rain made the small house smell strongly like an old house would. There was a leak at one of the east side windows, though it wasn’t too major. Yet, somehow, it was comfortable, like something out of a whimsical dream.

The tapping sounds of water pummeling the roof was drowned out by the melodies pouring out of the buds tucked into the young woman’s ears. The setting sun normally cast blinding light through the gaps in the curtains; however, the room was dim this afternoon, the covered window dark, unmoving curtains likely blocking the grey clouds that hovered in the sky above.

At some point during her slumber, she had wrapped herself tight in the thick blanket. It was mid autumn and the ocean was a measly fifty miles or so. Wildflowers bloomed almost all year, ravaging sidewalks and the edges of the roads like weeds. It was hardly a cold town, and yet she always shivered and sniffled as though it was, with skin pale, face lacking in pigments, and fingers cold to the touch.

Consciousness steadily came to her and she realized Chopin’s Raindrops had been playing. It was the most fitting coincidence: the free falling rain, the chill in the air, and the setting sun. It all fit in beautiful harmony with the piano and violin spewing from her ear buds. It was an afternoon unlike one she had had in a very long time. She felt oddly excited in that moment, like there was something extravagant waiting outside.

But, when she rose to a seated position in her bed, the earbuds fell loose and landed in her lap. For a brief moment, she was unmoving, frozen as if she had suddenly been violently torn from one reality to another. The deafening silence of the empty cottage was overwhelming. Despite the crackling of the rain and the grumbling of distant thunder, she could hear the empty halls, the vacant rooms, the untouched chairs, the dusty cabinets… white noise that was consuming, swallowing, so painfully… loud.

She grabbed the earbuds and shoved them back into her ears before pressing her palms over the buds, fingers over the conch of her ear, pressing tight as if to block out the silence and trap the music inside. Her head lowered until curtains of brown locks fell over her shoulder and hid her face, some strands pooling at her waist and resting heavy on her thigh.

She drowned out the solitude with the music, hoping she had enough time to finish the song before it was time to get up. She lifted her head and her eyes followed the cord that trailed from the buds towards the side of the bed where her phone laid. She reached over and tapped the screen once to see the black illuminate the time: 6:27. Three minutes until her alarm went off… The song wouldn’t be over in three minutes, but… She fell back on her pillows as if it would.

The lobby was empty and silent for the most part, with the exception of a single business man who was seated at one of the lush arm chairs, clicking away at the mobile computer on his lap. She didn’t understand why he felt the need to do that here, in the dead of night, as opposed to the comfort and solitude of his bedroom; however, judging by his receding hairline and cheap suit, he needed someway to feel important. Working with an audience seemed like a way to achieve that, if she gave a damn, which she did not.

She paid him virtually no attention, and focused on the filing that needed to be done behind the counter. She moved like a conscious-less being, hunching over to file paperwork into the proper drawer then standing back up to continue sorting through the pile atop the counter, before continuing the process: like a machine, with great precision.

A normal person likely would have held resentment for the day shift; after all, they left her this mountain of paperwork, every day, without fail. It would be waiting for her and she would finish it before her shift ended, also without fail. Of course, the day staff wouldn’t dare leave such a mess if they didn’t know she would do it.

She was quiet, she had no interest in their lives… Perhaps, they saw that as an exploitable weakness. Sometimes, she wondered if they were right - if her lack of desire to combat them on their laziness was her passively accepting these aggressions: like a living stepping stone. But… she had yet to say a word, yet to combat their behavior. She just did the paperwork.

The night shift was slow, it was easy, and it worked for her. It was difficult to explain why she was a natural night owl. She simply slept well during the blazing daylight hours, and was wide awake and alert at night. Oddly… the days felt hazy, felt exhausting and long. Nights felt serene, like she could sense everything more acutely. It just felt… right.

It continued to rain through the entirety of her shift. She had intentionally opened a window to let the soothing aromas waft in. It made the place colder, but she didn’t really mind. She set the fire place in the grand lobby and considered it adequate, a warmth to ward off the cold without disrupting the ambiance she was trying to enjoy.

Setting the fireplace paid off when an old couple arrived and waited patiently for a room to be prepared for them, huddled up and farm in front of the fire. Then arrived another business man… then another… A middle aged woman arrived at some point. The woman had yapped on about her life, as if the desk attendant had a single care. She nodded, responded minimally, and was polite, and the woman seemed pleased with that.

Then, suddenly, it was four in the morning, and the next lobby attendant had arrived to relieve her. “Oh my-!” the girl had proclaimed, suddenly. “The window was open the entire time! You poor thing… Must have been freezing!” Although she wasn’t, she smiled and fawned innocence of the ordeal. She was believable, and that was all that mattered. Explaining why the cold didn’t bother her, why the rain smelt so good, would be… difficult.

As always, it had gone by so quickly… Another day, another group of stranger’s faces, another paycheck… She didn’t feel tired, like a normal person would after working. She felt distant, like she was watching someone else’s life float by. Instead of witnessing it, she was experiencing it. But-… No. This was her life. Night shift hostess at the Doroftei Hotel, a day’s drive outside of Bucharest. A quiet, empty cottage waiting for her to return.

“Sow…”

She didn’t need to look up from her book to know who that was, but found it impossible to resist a small smile. Even if he hadn’t chosen to greet her in Japanese, his deep voice gave him away without fail. The bench she was seated at trembled slightly when he plopped down next to her. She closed her book and removed the earbud from her left ear - having decided to leave the right sight unoccupied less someone beckon to her - before peaking at him in the corner of her eye.

There were few ways to explain the attachment she had to him. By all means, it made no logical sense. She didn’t remember where they met, under what circumstances or why. She just knew him. He was her only friend. There was a familiarity that came with his company. They didn’t exchange pleasantries like strangers, ask pointless questions about one and other’s lives. They sat, side by side, like they had known each other forever.

It had been nearly a week since she last saw him. To her delight, he looked healthy today, with his hair tied in its unusual mess of a ponytail, a sort of glimmer in his amber eyes. She never asked why he would disappear for odd amounts of time, drawing the conclusion that he was traveling frequently to find work. His hands often looked rough, sometimes he had bags under his eyes, sometimes his eyes were red and tired, sometimes he-… just didn’t look right. Some part of her mind told him not to press, as if she already knew the answer… an answer she had forgotten.

He didn’t look directly at her, but sat with a long arm swung over the back of the bench, leaning back comfortably, legs spread in a masculine manner. She had paused her reading, out of respect, out of the comfort of his company. They didn’t really speak, merely sat together in silence at the town square.

It wasn’t a city; but, even the quaint little village didn’t sleep at night. The town gardens were illuminated with magnificent lights and a living fountain where the streams and spouts glowed. Cars drove by frequently, but not obnoxiously so. College students from the nearby universities stormed the bars and theaters. Couples sought one and other in the night like secret lovers. It wasn’t what most would consider a good place to read. But, she liked it. It was… alive.

“You’re not eating right,” he suddenly blurted. She directed her gaze at him and saw he was sitting upright now, arms crossed, looking down at her in utter disappointment. The look was kinda scary; yet, she felt no unease under his amber gaze. She didn’t even try to make an excuse or deny his claim, but merely muttered a pathetic, “sorry…”

“The fuck-” he immediately scoffed back at her. She must have made a face because he suddenly snapped his mouth shut and looked anxious, like he was searching for better words. Eventually, he gave up on the subtle approach. “Ya’ should be eating more - way more. Ya’ look like you’re gonna kill over. What is it? …hah?”

She looked away, feeling suddenly uneasy from his harsh stare and questioning. She had never really had much of an appetite, really. But, lately, she just… wasn’t hungry. It wasn’t an active choice. She wasn’t trying to lose weight or lashing out at the universe. She just… forgot. She was never hungry. The thought to eat rarely occurred unless she remembered that she had forgotten.

“I-… Where is this coming from?” she asked, not harshly or defensively. Rather, she sounded embarrassed over his concern for her health. It wasn’t modesty, but the fact that she didn’t want him to make a big deal about it. “Ahh?” he retorted, tone loud and questioning. “Ya’ look sick - that’s where,” he explained. “Sow-”

“Don’t worry about it,” she interrupted, almost snapping at him. “I’m fine. I don’t need you to-” he huffed, loud enough to interrupt her, before he barked, “like hell,” in a firm, denying tone. “You look-” Again, she interrupted him. “-terrible. I got it. Thanks.” Somehow, through this bickering, she had managed to avoid looking at him, until now. Maybe she expected him to look angry. Instead, he looked-… lost.

“….dying,” he finished, a bit sourly. His eyes had narrowed, but there was no angry in them. Rather, his brow hung low in unease. His mouth opened for a second as he contemplated something, before snapping it shut. She did the same, flapping her jaw for a moment as she searched for the right words. “I’m not… I’ll-… I’ll try to eat better… okay?”

As she stood up, gathered her shoulder bag, and shoved her book inside, she did her best to ignore the expression on the man’s face. He didn’t believe her; but, he couldn’t combat it. “Tch,” he scoffed, looking away almost childishly. “Bye, Yuma,” she said, giving a very slight, almost unnoticeable bow, before turning away from him. She made a single step before he called out to her.

“Sora-…” If she had ever heard him call her properly by her name, it had been such a long time that she couldn’t remember. It made her tremble uncomfortably, feel heavy and ungrounded at the same time. It made her head rattle as if she had just been shaken violently. She turned back to him.

“Forget it,” he said, almost immediately, before her eyes could even catch his gaze again. Just like that, he was gone. The bench was empty, and she was alone, and she wondered… if he was ever there.


	2. Chapter 2

“Maybe it wasn’t real…”

It was difficult to reason with the fear that the entire encounter had been a hallucination brought about by atrophy and loneliness. “Yuma wasn’t the kind to concern himself with other people’s problems,” Sora had thought to herself. Immediately, she mentally staggered back, wondering if she even knew the man well enough to make such a claim about him.

She couldn’t even recall how they met, how long they had known each other; yet, she had the audacity to make an assumption about him, to pretend she knew him at all? Maybe, then, whether the words came from him or not, he was right. Yuma… or the hallucination… whichever it was… was right. She was unintentionally starving herself.

With that thought, Sora stopped dead in her tracks on the sidewalk. Luckily, no one was close enough to be interrupted by her sudden pause. There was a 24-hour convenience store on the way home. At this point, she would have to backtrack a little; but, she was doubtful that she had sufficient food at home. So, she spun around and headed for it.

In a daze, she didn’t really focus on what she was placing in her basket. While her body was moving, hands grasping at things and feet carrying her around, Sora’s mind was far away. She replayed the events that just unfolded over and over, trying to bring herself to a less insane conclusion. She wanted to convince herself that it wasn’t unreal. She kept thinking about Yuma’s words… his lack of words. It all seemed like a blur, now.

It wasn’t until she was home, carefully removing the contents from the shopping bag, that she realized what she had actually bought. “Why did I-…?” she muttered to herself, staring down at the slice of meat wrapped in clear foil. She never ate steak. Not because she disliked it, necessarily, but because it just wasn’t her preferred taste. It was chewy and thick, bloody, with a bit more fat on it than she usually enjoyed. To top it off, it was one of the expensive cuts.

Sora grinded her teeth, glaring at the meat as if it was somehow guilty for being purchased. She shoved it away into the fridge, telling herself she could make it another night, when she had the patience for cooking. The sun had risen and was beaming through the kitchen window, making it just a little difficult to concentrate, and reminding her of how tired she was. She sat alone at the small dining table at the edge of the kitchen, on the side that the sun had yet to reach, and tried to convince herself she was hungry.

“I only had some chopped fruit at break today,” she whispered to herself, trying to sound encouraging. “-and a hard boiled egg for breakfast… That’s definitely not enough for one day… I’ll start feeling better if I-…”

It was less difficult than she anticipated; she managed to get down a slice of french bread and some deli meat. The tomato she laid on top was a little too bitter, but caused no real bother. She only noticed because the bread and the meat was dull. The acidic tomato was sudden and unexpected. It gushed juices when she bit into it and left a sharp sting on her tongue. But, then, it was washed down with some water and gone.

As Sora washed the dishes in the sink, she tried to tell herself that she felt better. She had eaten something, something decent and good, or at least better than nothing at all… Something that should be filling and satisfying… She should feel better. Despite it all, her throat felt dry and her stomach lacked the fullness she was longing for. If not for the faint taste left behind on her tongue, it was as though she had eaten nothing at all.

Sora returned to the empty master bedroom, taking a moment to stand in the doorway and look at the king sized bed. The sheets were smooth on the surface, only partially made, just as she left it. Something was missing, something she couldn’t explain. Maybe more pillows, an extra blanket since it was starting to get colder? No, not those things.

“It’s no different than it was before,” she muttered to herself, as though she needed to be reminded. She stripped, carelessly letting her clothes hit the floor, before reaching for the nightgown that was sprawled over the back of the chair that was tucked into an empty desk. She pulled her nightgown over her shoulders and went over the nightly ritual: brush your teeth, floss, turn on some music…

She reached for the small music player at her bedside, tugging it harshly so it unplugged from the charger. She tucked the buds into her ears and allowed the shuffle to pick the music for her. There was a few strums of piano keys before the violin began to sing.

Go to sleep…

Try to go to sleep.

Try.

Sleep.

Sle-

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sora didn’t worry when she didn’t see Yuma the next day, or the day after that. She returned to the bench in town square every night after their previous encounter. It was typical for her to stop by a few times a week, not every night. She wanted to see Yuma again; or, at least, that was what she told herself. That wasn’t a lie; but, it wasn’t the entire truth, either.

Her house felt emptier than usual. Nothing had changed, yet everything felt so different. Mundane things stopped smelling the same as they used to, or started to smell in ways she never noticed before. An ordinary bed, freshly washed linen, smelt so strongly of laundry soap and something she recognized as her own scent. A house that had always been her home no longer smelt like her home when she entered it.

She ceased heading directly home and sat, alone, on this bench, every single night, for several nights in a row, sometimes into the very early morning hours, because she didn’t want to go home. She read the most recent book she had checked out from the library. She listened to music on her handheld music player. Sometimes, she just stared up at the night sky, and wondered what awaited her tomorrow.

Tomorrow… She would go to work. She would spend her eight hour shift focused on the task at hand and the tasks that would follow. Or, maybe, it was her day off, and she would wander the town, making up imaginary chores that needed to be taken care. Some repairs on the house that weren’t needed for a good while. Clean this, sweep that, sit on the porch and wave back at the neighbors whose names she had no care to remember.

It felt like a dream. Suddenly, here she was, living in this house, working a mundane job, with nothing to do in-between: enough savings to get by comfortably, a cute town that most people dream of someday living in. Like a dream, she lacked the memory of how she got here. It was as though this was the life she always lived, but she missed the first half.

The week went by like a blur, like it always did, and then followed the next week. Sora got up, had breakfast and dressed herself, went to work, made a trip to the library once, sat at her favorite bench in the park to read, walked home, and the cycle continued. Her boss sat with her at lunch one day to ask about the progress on the new hires. She decided not to tell him that they were lazy because so was he, and she saw no point in it.

Nothing was new. Nothing changed. People didn’t change.

She didn’t see Yuma that week, either, and didn’t think there was anything odd about that. Almost the entirety of interactions she had these days was work related. Maybe she conjured up some illusion to fill the void, or perhaps it was one of the side affects of malnutrition.

Sora didn’t want to believe she had hallucinated Yuma’s presence that night; but, when the following nights were colder, lonelier, and longer, that possibility seemed more and more likely. Maybe, she was in denial of the fact that she missed him. Every night, when work ended, and she walked to the park, she hoped he would be sitting there. Maybe he would insult her sense of fashion, or give her a basket of tomatoes - that he grown himself, of course - and tell her not to be a lazy sow and cook them properly-

Those things… Had he done those things before? She couldn’t recall; and, yet, she imagined him doing those things and speaking to her that way, and they seemed natural. Did Yuma like to garden? Had she truly forgotten something so important about her only friend? Friend… if she could call him that.

She wondered if she could make it up to him, somehow, even if she ever saw him again. It seemed like a nice thought. But, when two weeks passed and she still hadn’t seen him, Sora began to worry. He was busy, maybe. She couldn’t really say. But, it was normal. He had done this before. This time, it felt…

Different.

September 27th was an ordinary Thursday, for the most part. For whatever reason, Sora decided to go straight home that night. Perhaps it was the cold in the air, or the fact that her head felt a little foggy; but, she decided to skip the park, the library, the grocery store, and any other place that was her usual. She walked straight home in the dead of night. At least, it started as a walk.

Something she couldn’t pinpoint was nagging at her thoughts. She felt the invasive discomfort of eyes watching her back. She couldn’t settle the ache in her stomach, the feeling of being followed, a nagging sensation that she wasn’t alone. Her blood was running colder and colder the more she pressed on, the further she left the city and the closer she drew to the suburbs.

At some point, the feeling overwhelmed her. A voice in her head set off the peak of her fear: don’t walk, run… someone’s coming… you’re being followed… run - run - run. And, she did. She started running, not a fast walk or a haste jog. She burst into a frantic sprint, running faster than she had in ages. She ran so fast her ears drummed violently in her ears, her mouth ran dry, and she struggled to breathe.

In fact, she likely stopped breathing when she started running; but, she wasn’t thinking about her body’s limitations. She could only hear a voice of danger, like a whisper in her ear, beckoning her along. She could only feel her instincts pushing her to the brink of sense and normalcy. It was like being in the center of a storm, an orchestra of fear.

Then, she turned the corner where she lived, and all went silent. The voice of fear, pushing her along, had gone quiet. Her own heartbeat had calmed, and the white noise that overwhelmed her senses had silenced itself. Just like that, her worries drowned.

But, Sora still turned around and looked behind her back, almost as if she expected to see someone. But, of course, there was no one there. She was alone in the night, with only the sounds of chirping crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl. There was the faint sound of traffic in the distance.

She was alone… She was alone…

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

She choked it up to stress. That seemed the most logical explanation. The holidays were approaching, a stressful time for most people, especially those who lived alone. Work was hectic - more so than usual, anyway - with the increase of travelers who were irritable - troublesome, she wanted to call them. She hadn’t been eating as good as she should have: forgetting to eat, eating less than she should have. All that made for a logical explanation to all her-… Well, she didn’t want to call them hallucinations.

That sounded irrational… That sounded downright insane, really. But, that’s exactly what they were. They were hallucinations, they were irrational, and they were insane. She realized that in all her worries and distress, she sounded insane. This was a peaceful, quiet town. Her life was ordinary.

Nothing strange happened around here.

By the time Sora convinced herself to stop worrying over all that was plaguing her thoughts, it was October 2nd, and Sora walked home with company for the first time in weeks.

She was walking down the busy road not far from where she worked, at the corner between the small grocery store and insurance offices. Cars were speeding by, people were moving in and out of the grocery store. She almost didn’t see him standing there.

“Sow,” he said, plain as day, as if he hadn’t just gone silent for weeks, as if he had called her that a mere day ago. Sora looked at him as if she had forgotten who he was. Maybe she did. Maybe, in that short time, she forgot the contours of his face, the thickness of his ponytail, the gold shimmer in his eyes. But, as soon as their gazes met, she remembered who he was, like being struck by a violent deja vu.

“Yuma,” she replied, greeting him back with a sort of casualty as if he hadn’t been gone for weeks. It should have hurt. But, it didn’t. She couldn’t explain why; but, she blindly accepted it. This… whatever this was. She stopped in front of him and choked on the urge to question him, but not because of his absence. When she looked at him, she was perturbed by something else, something beyond her own insecurities.

He looked tired. He looked like he hadn’t slept or even closed his eyes in days. His hair looked dirty, clothes unwashed, with scuffs on his jawline. His arms were crossed, and she could see the torn skin on his knuckles. She shouldn’t, but she couldn’t not ask. “What happened?” and there it was. She was speaking in a soft, but firm voice. “-you look… like you got in a fight.”

“Sow’s nosy,” Yuma criticized, in a voice that was casual, as if he wasn’t covering up his horrid condition with a cheap insult. “So?” she retorted, completely lacking in malice. “Tch. If you’re so worried - ya’ should see the other guy.” Sora couldn’t help but smile at that tongue and cheek. Yuma could take care of himself; that much she was certain of.

But, maybe, she wondered why, but only for a moment, as if she knew the reason, but it flickered away before she could remember it, leaving her in a state to not bother asking why because-… she already knew the answer.

Sora continued walking home and Yuma followed alongside her.

They were silent as they walked, not bothering to converse because-… Maybe, they didn’t need to. There was really nothing worth talking about, anyway. She could complain about her job, bring up the newest book she was reading, or even tell him about the sale going on at the grocery store. There were plenty of mundane things to bring up… All she ever really thought about these days was mundane things, really.

She didn’t have any desire to talk about those things, though. There was a singular thought buzzing over and over again in her thoughts as she walked alongside Yuma. Sora avoided looking at him, perhaps out of fear she would blurt out what she was thinking.

Before she knew it, they were a few feet from her front door. She was approaching the front door and heard Yuma turn around when the desire overwhelmed her. She gave in. “Yuma, is-” There was a pause as Sora turned around and she saw Yuma stop walking. His hands were buried in his pockets and he turned his upper body to look at her. The sight struck her silent for a second.

In the dark of the night, in the glow of the street light, Yuma completely different, yet exactly the same thing. There it was again: that feeling of deja vu, like she had seen this exact moment before. She had seen Yuma like this before: a little bruised up, walking away from her, feet heavy on the sidewalk, in the glow of the street lights. Before the pause could become too long for comfort, she swallowed, and muttered, “-is there anything going on?”

He didn’t bat an eye or look the least bit confused by her question. He plainly asked, “like what?” Sora stared at him for a moment, searching for the right words. There were many thoughts floating in her head that she didn’t want to tell him: worries, fears… feelings that felt like memories. Like now… Like this moment…

“Like something’s happening,” she answered, and even she didn’t know what she meant. Yuma didn’t look bothered or confused; his expression didn’t change at all. “I did get in a fight; but, you shouldn’t worry about it,” he answered. It felt forced. It felt like a distraction. He was directing her away from whatever she was thinking. Sora knew that. But…

“Okay.” It was okay - no, it wasn’t. Yuma left without another word, and Sora stood outside her door until his footsteps went silent. It took longer than expected, but eventually the night went quiet.

The sun rose and Sora crawled into bed without bothering to change her clothes or brush her teeth. She stared at the blank space beside her. When she closed her eyes, she reached over and felt the empty space, as if looking for something. The house felt colder. But, of course it did; winter was steadily approaching, after all. It was quiet and empty. But, it had always been that way.

She did sleep… eventually.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A day went by. Then another… and another… and some more… and more… more… and Sora hadn’t seen Yuma again in weeks. It was harder this time. She left work hoping he would surprise her. She visited her favorite spot in the park, not to read, but with the hopes he would be there. She had been alone as long as she could recall. This was nothing new. For so long, it had been the life she had always known, and yet…

October 17th was the first day in years that Sora didn’t go to work. She didn’t call in sick. She laid in bed and glanced carelessly at the propped up cellphone that blared the time at her. Some hours passed and eventually her cell phone rang when she failed to show up; but, she didn’t bother answering. For once, she simply didn’t care. There was something about today: something she couldn’t explain, something she couldn’t remember. Something-… she forgot. It left a gaping hole in her chest that stung with each inhale.

“I forgot something-…”

She laid in bed for some time before taking a shower and sitting at her back porch for some odd amount of hours, staring up at the stars. She was dressed in an extra large T shirt and some loose pants. Her hair was a disaster and the skin on her face was lacking in color. Midnight rolled by before she knew it. Her stomach was aching with a pain of hunger that she couldn’t feel. Around six in the morning, she sat down at the dining table and stared blindly at the empty space across from her.

October 18th…

“I forgot some-…”

She didn’t know why; but, as the sun began to rise and spewed light into her kitchen, something snapped. Sora lowered her head gently onto the table and wrapped her arms around her skull. Her body trembled as she sobbed alone in her kitchen, soaking the table’s wood surface with tears and crying so violently she choked and struggled to breathe.

“I forgot-…”


End file.
